


Barton's Feeling Jammy

by Chavo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Inappropriate use of Baby Powder, M/M, Physical Abuse, Rough Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chavo/pseuds/Chavo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint just wants to get Coulson alone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Fence

**Author's Note:**

> I was given a pairing and four key words to use in a fan-fic, this is the result.  
> The key words were - Fence, Jam, Baby Powder and Print

‘Sir?’ the intercom rumbled to life in Coulson’s hands and he pulled it swiftly out of his belt. Was that a tremor he heard in Barton’s voice, or just his own concern for his prized agent clouding his judgement?

‘What is it, Barton?’

‘Sir,’ there is was again, Coulson thought, that tremble in his tone, as though it was taking an effort to get the words out, ‘Sir, I’m going to have to come back in.’

This was unprecedented. Never before had Clint Barton called in a request to come back early from the field. Cold panic swept up so fast from the bottom of Coulson’s stomach that he almost swayed on his feet, but aware that some of the baby-agents were watching him closely he managed to do nothing more than tighten his grasp on the intercom, which creaked slightly under the unaccustomed pressure.

‘What seems to be the problem, Barton? Are you injured?’ Are you hurt? Is it bad? Is it serious? 

Coulson found himself striding away from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters deck with the intercom still firmly held in his white-knuckled hand. ‘Barton,’ he commanded, ‘Answer me.’

A solitary cough that was so weak it sounded to Coulson almost like a snort of laughter, came over the speaker. ‘I’ve… had a little accident. I was following the suspect - you know that Brynocki guy you wanted me to bring in? - and I kind of decided to take a short cut…’

Phil Coulson leaned against the wall in the empty aircraft’s corridor and closed his eyes with a sigh of relief, Barton was using his whiny it-wasn’t-my-fault voice and that meant that he couldn’t be injured too badly if he was more nervous about getting a warning for breech of protocol.

‘What happened, Clint.’ The worry had left Coulson’s voice and it now sounded clipped and tired, the voice of a man not to be messed around with.

‘I jumped a fence, slipped and got my shoulder impaled on a chunk of wood… sir.’ 

‘’Dammit, Barton, how many times have I told you to stick to the paths? This is because of all that parkour crap you’ve been watching with Tony, right?’

It was rare that Coulson swore, when he did the unlucky person it was directed towards usually found themselves on the receiving end of a warning that came topped off with a suspension without pay. On the intercom Phil heard Barton audibly gulp and smiled grimly to himself; it amused him with a dark sort of humour how much the other agents feared his wrath, even when he’d done nothing more sinister that raise his voice a time or two, or file a harsh report to Fury.

The voice on the intercom now sounded hurt, ‘Sir, it was an accident - and to be frank, it hurts like hell, so if you could just give me the go ahead to come back…’

He trailed off, already knowing what Coulson would say, already starting the walk towards his pickup point where Phil would meet him in Lola, the flying red Corvette and whisk him up to the medical team on the Helicarrier.

Good thing those guys were easy enough to bribe, he thought to himself as he heard Coulson’s expected permission come through the headset.


	2. Feeling Jammy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson discovers the truth and is not pleased.

Phil was mad. That much was easy to work out on the car ride back to base - he wouldn’t look directly at Clint, and the sinister smile, which was as much a part of Coulson’s face as his cold blue eyes, was missing - replaced by a tight lipped line that Clint had never seen before but instantly disliked.

‘Sir-’ he began timidly.

‘Don’t, Barton, just don’t.’ 

Tight, clipped words. It reminded Clint of the way ‘Tasha talked when she was telling him something about her mysterious past in Russia, it was a way of speaking that suggested there was a waterfall of emotion just behind the words. A torrent of feelings that were being held back by sheer willpower. For the first time, Clint began to wonder if this little scheme of his had been a bad idea after all.

They pulled into the flight deck of the Helicarrier and Coulson slammed the door of his precious Corvette - another sign he was deeply pissed at the now extremely nervous sniper still sitting in the passenger seat.

‘Medi-lab, do you copy? I’ve got an agent down here. He needs immediate attention to a shoulder wound. Do you copy?’

The intercom in Coulson’s hand buzzed to life again in a flurry of static, ‘Er… that’s going to have to be a negative, sir,’ the handheld replied haltingly, ‘We’re on the verge of a code Green in here and we’d rather keep the area in lockdown.’

‘Code Green?’ asked the concerned man in black, ‘What’s happened to Bruce?’

‘Um…’ the static crackled again, ‘Well, I guess you’d say… Tony! Get away from him, haven’t you already caused enough trouble? Sorry, sir, I have to go, can you take care of your agent yourself?’

‘I guess I’ll have to,’ replied Coulson as he sheathed the intercom again, ‘Barton, come with me. I have medical supplies in my room.’

Cradling his blood-red arm theatrically, Clint followed his boss down the Helicarrier’s maze of corridors to a small unassuming office with a plain grey door.

‘This is your room?’ he asked in disbelief as they entered as he glanced around curiously. Clint’s own quarters were bigger than this and he only spent half the time here that Coulson did.

‘I have a desk, a bookcase and a bed, Barton. What else could I possibly require in my room?’ Phil answered distractedly. He was rummaging around in a drawer on the desk and gathering an assortment of medical supplies onto its obsessively neat surface.

‘What else could I possibly require in my room?’ The words rolled around in Clint’s head and he whispered hopefully, ‘Me?’

‘What was that? Did you say something?’

‘No, sir, just muttering to myself.’

‘Ah! Here we are,’ Coulson smiled as he pulled a length of cotton gauze from a drawer, ‘Just what I was looking for. Now, sit on the bed, Clint, and hold still.’

Clint’s face flushed immediately and deeply, and he sat on the end of the perfectly made bed before his legs could give way beneath him. What a phrase! ‘Sit on the bed and hold still,’ Yes, sir!

Coulson approached with his medical supplies held in his arms like a baby, that disconcerting little smile of his was playing around his lips again as Clint stripped out of his red stained shirt, and the young sniper was pleased to see it, although it did have the effect of making him blush even deeper under the older mans gaze.

Barton’s boss - a man he had now known and worked for - for several years bent over him, and the sniper held his breath anxiously. This was it. It was make or break time, he only hoped he wouldn’t be living on the streets this time tomorrow if Phil took this whole pantomime the wrong way.

The agent peered closely at Barton’s wound and noticed the immediate tensing of the boys slight frame, he reached out to touch the abrasion and stopped short, his brow creasing into a frown. Instead, he bent his face close to the red pool at Clint’s shoulder and sniffed, then, quick as an arrow, he dipped his tongue and licked from Clint’s erect nipple up to his shoulder in one long swipe, gathering as much of the red substance as he could in his mouth.

Barton groaned loudly, his eyes closing in over-whelming ecstasy as he felt that hot tongue trail over him.

‘Barton,’ the voice was cool and calm, and did Clint really hear that? Was that a slight growl of lust hidden in the depths? ‘Barton, would you care to explain to me why you’ve faked a severe shoulder wound using,’ he licked his lips experimentally and Clint groaned again at the extraordinarily sexy sight, ‘Using raspberry jam?’


	3. The Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get the Powder out...

‘Well, you see, sir,’ Clint intoned, ‘I just wanted to get you alone for five minutes, I wanted to tell you-’

The blow was unexpected and harsh. Coulson struck the sniper across his still blushing face and Clint’s reaction was immediate. He rolled away from Coulson and was reaching for the bow he wasn’t even carrying before he managed to get a hurt, ‘Ow,’ from his mouth.

‘All this was some elaborate ruse to talk to me alone? Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was?’ Coulson’s tirade was shocking to watch. This was a man who never lost his cool, and now here he was pacing up and down the tiny room and swearing for all the world as though he was Nick Fury himself.

‘I thought you’d been seriously injured. I panicked, Barton, panicked, because I thought I might lose you, and all this time you were bluffing because you wanted a private word? Well, this better be the best fucking word you’ve ever said, Clint, because if it’s not I’m going to personally make sure you do have a serious injury to report.’

He stopped in front of Barton with his hands on his hips, scowling furiously, and Clint had time to register the fact that he looked more heroic in that moment than Steve Rogers had ever done wearing the star-spangled uniform. He would have paid good money for a picture of Phil like this - fierce and gorgeous before him - but instead of commenting on that, he said something completely unexpected. 

‘I love you, sir.’

At first he was shocked by the words which had come unbidden from his mouth, but as he gave his brain chance to catch up he realised that every word was the truth. He was in love with this deadly man standing furiously over him, he would do anything for him, he would die for him if he was asked to.

‘You love me?’ Coulson repeated, and Clint cringed at the incredulous tone in which his boss said those three words. ‘You love me - and rather than flowers or chocolates you thought it would be a romantic idea to feign an injury and get me worried as hell.’

Phil took a moment or two to calm down and rubbed the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache coming on.

‘Sorry, sir, I guess I didn’t really think of it like that, I just wanted to get on our own in your room,’ muttered Clint apologetically.

‘Well, Barton,’ said Coulson calmly, lowering his fingers and gracing the boy with an eerie smile that made him shudder, ‘Here we are. Alone. In my room. Now, do you know what I’m going to do?’

‘Throw me out?’ asked Clint, almost hopefully. If that was the worst Phil would do to him then Barton would consider that he’d gotten off pretty lightly.

‘No, Barton, for an infraction like this I’m going to have to punish you.’ the smile widened, showing teeth.

The breath stopped in Clint’s throat but he managed to gasp, ‘What… what are you going to do?’

‘This.’ Coulson reached forward with a speed the sniper had never seen him use before and grabbed a hold of Clint’s belt buckle, a firm hand on his fake injury restrained his movement as Phil dexterously used one hand to tug off the trousers that fell into a heap next to his jam-smeared shirt.

Clint’s eyes grew wide as Coulson undressed him, and when Phil put his face close to the panting boy, he tried to kiss him desperately, ‘No, no, Barton, this is a punishment, not pleasure. No kisses for you,’ but he fondled the top of Clint’s hair affectionately as he turned him over until he was kneeling on the bed.

Barton gazed down at the simple beige duvet beneath him and listened to the sounds of movement coming from behind. He could feel himself growing hard and was both humiliated and excited to be in this position on Coulson’s bed. In none of his wildest dreams was this how he’d pictured the night turning out.

The sound of a zipper stopped his train of though and he gulped, while at the same time arching his back wantonly like a cheap slut. He couldn’t help it, his entire body was aflame for Coulson’s touch, he was rocking on the bed, almost begging for just a brush of a finger or a flick of a tongue on his excited, wet hole.

Phil Coulson looked down at the writhing boy before him and licked his lips, he’d always had a special affection for Clint but had been careful to hide it, it wasn’t professional to have relationships within the team, but hell, if Barton had gone through all that trouble to get to him, this was the least he could do - and by God he would enjoy it!

Clint relaxed a little as he felt Phil kneel on the bed and reach across to the nightstand for something, Oh, thank God, he’s got lube, I thought he was going to go in dry. Jesus, I want him but I don’t think I could have coped with that!

The first white flakes started to rain down onto the boys spasming sphincter and a soft pleasant fragrance filled the air, he looked around at Coulson in horror, ‘What the- Is that Baby Powder?’

‘This is a punishment remember, Barton, and with all this delicious moisture around your pretty ass I think it would be too smooth a ride for you. At least when you’re all powdered up I’ll have the benefit of knowing it will be nice and dry and hurting.’

For the first time Clint looked directly into those ice blue eyes and saw a faint glint of greedy madness hiding just below the surface, it filled him with a cold terror that only increased his lust and managed to make him jerk a stream of white come across Coulson’s perfectly folded sheets.

Before Clint had time to recover from his pre-emptive orgasm he was suddenly filled to his very depths as Phil shoved himself forward with an unmerciful speed that matched the dangerous look in his eyes. Clint screamed, and as he did Coulson reached around to his young face and grabbed his mouth, silencing him into muffles and pulling him back on to that relentlessly battering cock even harder.

Tears sprang to Barton’s eyes as Coulson continued to ram him into the bed sheets, the baby powder had done its job and Clint’s rectum was dry and tight, he felt as though he were being raped by a fucking train.

With a primitive growl, Coulson sank his teeth into Clint’s neck - fetching bright red beads of blood - as he shot his ruined asshole full of his hot seed. He held it there for a moment and then groaned, shoving his semi-hard cock once more into the shuddering boy before drawing back and out of him.

For a long minute the room was quiet, the only sounds the gentle ticking of the clock and the ragged pants from the two men on the bed as their both caught their breath again.


	4. The Morning After the Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the following morning and Clint's wearing some pretty prints.

‘Jesus Christ!’ said Tony with feeling, when he saw Clint the following morning, ‘What happened to you?’

Barton had spend a good long time in front of the mirror himself when he woke up, so he knew exactly what Tony was talking about. There was a palm print across Clint’s mouth that looked as though he’d been slapped by Thor, and as if that wasn’t bad enough there were teeth marks on his neck.

‘What does it look like, idiot, I had a good time last night,’ Clint replied, companionably. That was pretty much true. Yes, it had hurt like hell, and he was still having trouble sitting down, but had he enjoyed it? Oh, God, yes! In fact he’d spent a good twenty minutes with his hands down his boxers this morning, enjoying it all over again while he looked at that print on his face in the mirror.

‘Looks like my idea of a good time, too,’ Tony remarked, ‘Want to give me her number when you’re done with her?’

‘Barton,’ the familiar voice broke into the conversation before Clint had time to think of a reply to Tony’s assumption.

‘Yes, sir?’ 

‘You look like hell, take these and clean yourself up,’ a box of aspirin dropped onto the breakfast table beside Clint and he picked then up gratefully. Coulson walked through the room without stopping and Barton felt a moments hurt at the lack of acknowledgement for last nights sultry activities, but he filed it away and headed to the bathroom for a glass of water so he could take the much needed painkillers.

Once inside, he opened the packet, expecting the usual foil wrapped tablets to be waiting for him, instead there were two small white pills - which he recognised instantly as the promised aspirin, a folded slip of paper and a small silver room key.

Fumbling in his eagerness, Clint unfolded the paper - Barton, last night was fun, I’d like to do it again. Maybe this time you won’t need punishing quite so severely, although you do look incredible wearing my palm print across your lips like that. Be in my room at 21:00, naked and waiting. Good boy - it was signed at the bottom with Coulson’s swirled script and then - P.S. If you lose this fucking room key, I’m going to kill you.

Clint looked up at himself in the bathroom mirror and smiled widely at the print gracing his face, he slipped the two small white pills into his pocket - he didn’t think he needed then after all, he was suddenly feeling much, much better.


End file.
